People often ask me about what I practise.
In short, my practice routine is informed by the music I am going to be playing, and equally importantly, the music that I have been playing. A consequence of the environment in which I was raised has made me a lifelong autodidact, which comes with a highly developed instinct for self evaluation. In other words, if something I do on a gig or session falls below my expectations, I tend to spot it and usually can find a means of remedying it when I get back to the practice room.
What I work on falls into three principal categories; time, technique, and improvisation.
Time covers a wide range of musical styles, all of the considerations regarding four way coordination, and the all important dynamic balance between the four limbs, wherein lies the key to sounding authentic within any specific genre.
Improvisation is a key part of the vast majority of the the gigs I play these days, so it makes sense to work on it. A key part of practice is context. I spend a lot of time playing in the moment, although using one or more fixed elements. The three key elements are rhythmic patterns, sticking patterns, and orchestration. For example, I might take a syncopated rhythmic phrase, and without deviating from it, I will constantly change the sticking and, or the orchestration. Similarly, I may take a sticking pattern and move it between every possible orchestration permutation available from snare and two toms. For those interested, this is laid out in the form of a numerical grid on page 76 of my book, Stickings, Dexterity, and Orchestration, more details of which are available on my website.
Working on improvisation in this way I have found hugely important in developing the ability to react to the twists and turns of music as they occur, while at the same time avoiding the pitfalls of imprinted muscle memory, where you end up hating yourself for always playing the same old licks. Not that this doesn't happen from time to time, but it just serves as a backstop on the happily increasingly rare occasions when I can't seem to tap into that more creative mindset.
It's not for everyone, but it works for me. I prefer it to shedding Wilcoxon solos and then hoping that something worthwhile comes out if I'm going to blow for six choruses on a blues.
Which brings me to the last, and by some distance most controversial area, technique.
The great drummer Shelly Manne summed it up perfectly when he described technique as the means by which you convey your musical ideas.
This, then, begs the question, 'How much technique do I need?'
The answer is simple. As much as the music requires. The music is your guide, you play what it calls for. Nothing more, and most definitely nothing less. It makes no difference whether you are playing with The Mahavishnu Orchestra or The Eagles. Your input to the music should be at the right level for it to sound complete, and stylistically appropriate.
OK, now I see a problem ahead.
If your hypothetical Eagles cover band were to suddenly rebrand as a Mahavishnu Orchestra covers band, would you be able to hack the new repertoire? Think long and hard. Be completely honest with yourself before answering.
Equally, if your hypothetical Mahavishnu Orchestra covers band were to rebrand as an Eagles cover band, would you be able to bring about the necessary stylistic revisions to retain that gig?
Each question is equally as valid and serves to underscore the global point that you do what is necessary for the music.
I've deliberately chosen a couple of mildly absurd polar opposite musical contexts to illustrate my point, but you get it don't you?
The Mahavishnu Orchestra covers drummer is every bit as much in danger as getting the Spanish Archer from the Eagles cover band as vice versa. A great prog/fusion player might not be completely comfortable with pocket, space, and simplicity.
A pocket player might be intimidated by odd times, heavily syncopated phrases with all kinds of set ups in between, and the spectre of improvisation.
Does that make one good and the other bad? Of course not.
Now we get a little bit controversial.
As a teenager my priority was developing my playing. I also had a keen interest in going to the pub and meeting girls at discos. Playing was nevertheless my number one priority. Not everybody is the same. Often I liken practising to investing. You get out in proportion to what you put in, but the ideal strategy is to maximise the return on your outlay. In other words, work on the things you want to do well, and the things you need to do well. Sometimes they will be the same things, at other times they will differ.
In my formative years I was rather hung up on speed and facility. This is in large part due to the drummers in my Dad's record collection; Buddy, Louie, Joe Morello, Krupa and several others. In other words my yardstick for what made a drummer great was their ability to play solos. When you think about it for a moment, those drummers who became the biggest stars of big band and jazz music were often judged by the general public on those terms. The star drum soloists of the time had the bigger profiles by some distance. That's not to say that there were legendary players of that musical era who were not big soloists. Think of Dave Tough, Mel Lewis, Don Lamond and quite a few others. Loved by other musicians for what they brought to the rhythm section, these drummers were the 'groove players' of their day. But you wouldn't be likely to find them on stage for Drum Night at Birdland or a Jazz at the Philharmonic drum battle.
So anyway, by 17 I had developed quite precocious facility. There's more than enough evidence on You Tube to bear this out, but I quickly learned that facility was not the top priority when it came to advancing my career and holding down professional gigs. I overplayed a lot, like a precursor to today's Instagram drummers who embellish every available gap with the most absurdly convoluted fills. You can get away with this if you are at home, playing along to a record, but do that in a band and the musicians will likely grind to a halt. You will almost certainly get shown the door shortly thereafter. Believe me I know. I went there, did that and got the 'never again' once or twice. Backing tracks are great practice resources, but remember they won't give you the essential skill to manage time and dynamics when playing with real musicians. That's another world altogether.
Just as a side issue; have you ever noticed that social media comments on drummers' videos are either sycophancy or a pile-on, but never actual, beneficial, constructive criticism? I sometimes wonder why that is. Don't you?
So the acquisition of much needed experience gave me the nous to know when to put all that technique in my back pocket and leave it there. This I believe is what it's all about. The key to developing technique is knowing when not to use it. There are plenty of prominent players out there who are for the most part known as pocket players, whose facility on the drums might surprise you. Personally I am in the fortunate position where the work I do gives me ample scope to apply the things I continue to develop. My ability to improvise makes me an asset to the people who employ me.
I said I was going to be controversial, so here it is.
Lack of ability is not a virtue. Limited facility on the instrument does not afford you some sort of confected moral superiority over those with superior ability: with the caveat that said superior ability should always be applied in the service of the music. If you feel you are not attaining the level you desire, get back to studying, seek out a tutor, put the hours in and watch your standards rise, and above all, don't knock those who have taken it a little further. I can't think of any form of endeavour where lack of development is portrayed as somehow advantageous.
I remember a few years ago we took the big band to a major UK jazz festival. At that time we were featuring music made famous by Buddy Rich, and the festival organisers asked if I would do a big band drumming master class on the day of our concert. This duly went ahead, and given the context there was considerable focus on soloing, improvisation etc.
Everyone seemed to enjoy it apart from one attendee who sat there with a furled bottom lip and an icy stare of disapproval.
Afterwards he admitted that his enjoyment of the master class had been limited , and said,
"All this soloing is all very well but I play for the song".
Overlooking the fact that he is actually a gas fitter from Bolton, it wasn't the first time that I've found the use of that particular chestnut in the drummer lexicon ever so slightly passive-aggressive. Before you put down someone who has more highly developed ability than you, maybe take a look in the mirror. Maybe get a bit more focused on setting yourself some new and potentially more challenging goals. Even better, get competitive. Competitive with yourself. Why not make a concerted effort to enhance your technique, thus improving your ability to express your musical ideas, to end this blog reiterating the words o wisdom from Shelly Manne.
The means of conveying your musical ideas.
